


newton geiszler, oblivious moron extraordinaire

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, for someone so smart he’s a dumbass, it ends well tho, really newt is such a fucking idiot tho, take a hiiiiiint you moron, this fic is just. “all the times newt was an oblivious moron” lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22279438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Newt finds out Hermann has a crush, and totally isn’t jealous about that at all. He’s just—yeah, okay, he’s a little jealous because come on, Hermann? Is a fuckingcatch. He’d congratulate the guy, but he doesn’t even know who the object of Hermann’s affections is...
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 13
Kudos: 148





	newton geiszler, oblivious moron extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danimagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danimagus/gifts).



> this is 110% self-indulgent heh

It's not as if Newt doesn't think Hermann has a—a love-life, or whatever, it's just. Well. Hermann's so very.... _Hermann,_ and Newt's always just. Put those two things in separate spheres, to be honest. Hermann's so—so. _Hermann._ He's always struck Newt as the sort to spout off a Holmesian line about being _married to his work,_ so needless to say, Newt is pretty surprised when he learns that, in fact, there _is_ someone Hermann's interested in.

They're in the lab, as usual (when the hell do they ever _leave_ the lab, though, really? There's more than a few days they _sleep_ there as well), and Hermann's muttering something over his equations, and Newt's got his headphones on—at Hermann's insistence—, poking around some of the Mutavore samples that haven't gotten too old or damaged or _whatever_ to use, and noting the similarities and differences with his data on Spinejackal.

He yawns widely, sets his pen down, and reaches his hands above his head, interlocking them, and cracks his back, watching Hermann.

"I can _feel_ you staring at me," Hermann snaps, without looking at him, and Newt startles, knee knocking the table painfully, and lets out a yelp.

Hermann turns to lock gazes with him. "Well?" he says, impatiently taping the chalk against the board, " _something's_ eating at your mind."

"After the war," Newt says, and until that point, he hadn't even known there _was_ something on his mind, let alone this, but now it's filling his mind electric-bright, so he says again: "after the war. What are we going to do?"

Hermann makes a little noise that Newt's come to recognise as one of irritation—the kind that's because he thinks Newt is asking a stupid question and the answer is _right there;_ the kind of sound that he makes by twisting his wide, weird, annoyingly kissable lips at odd angles, and says, " _Work,_ I'm sure."

"Mm," Newt hums, "teaching, all that fun shit. Go back home and see the family. You got anyone special? Lucky lady, maybe?"

It's meant mostly teasingly; Newt _is_ curious, because Hermann rarely shares anything about his personal life—what little Newt _does_ know was gleaned through oblique references in The Letters—which he thinks of with capitals, because it's—they're _important_ —, and Hermann's kind of a mystery, and Newt's always gone _batshit_ over, like, riddles and stuff, even though he's not very good at them.

The physicist raises his chalk to the board and sets it back down, as if having thought better of it, and makes an odd noise—confusion, maybe, mixed with...surprise?—and says, "Newton," and then stops, fingers interlocking and then separating again in his own little nervous tick.

"Newton," he says, again, and there's a— _something_ hanging around him; like an aura. "Er. No," he says, and chews his lip, which Newt pointedly _doesn't_ pay attention to because Hermann sounds like he's going to say something pretty important here. "Not...not my—not my _type,_ " he says, finally, in a slightly strangled tone, and Newt thinks nothing for a moment, and then he thinks— _oh._

"Ah," he says. "Okay."

Which, probably not _the_ best way to respond to someone coming out, but, well—well.

"You needn't—er, _worry,_ " Hermann says, clasping his hands together, looking painfully awkward, perched there, on one of the rungs, "I shan't—there's not—"

"Dude, dude, _breathe,_ " Newt says, a bit alarmed, frankly, because Hermann looks—well, a little _terrified,_ and he's gone from clasping his hands to shaking them from the wrist down in rapid little motions, and Newt is _pretty sure_ he knows what's going on. "It's okay. You don't need to—to _explain_ anything, or whatever."

"Hah," Hermann says, and his voice is a bit weaker. "Well. Then. Er."

He looks pretty embarrassed, so, of course, Newt chooses that moment to stick his foot in his mouth and blurt out, "Uh—I get it, man, it's—yeah, don't. Don't sweat it."

This time, Hermann _does_ laugh, but it's a little hysterical. " _You,_ " he says, "oh, no, don't misunderstand me, Newton, I appreciate the _attempt,_ but, ah—" he gestures at himself, which doesn't really convey _anything,_ but Newt suspects it's _supposed_ to.

This time, _he_ laughs. "Dude," he says. "You—me—you think I'm—!"

" _Most_ people are," Hermann snaps, " _statistically._ "

He can see it—Hermann's drawing back into himself, throwing up walls desperately to avoid the pain he thinks is going to come, and Newt— _isn't_ going to let that happen. "Well, _actually,_ " he says, "your _statistical_ assumption is _wrong._ "

Hermann gapes at him.

"What," he says, flatly.

" _Not_ straight," Newt says, enunciating the words very clearly. " _Extremely_ bi."

"But—you—" Hermann sputters, and then goes silent, and says, " _oh._ Well. That explains the pronoun game."

"What, you thought I was trying to be _progressive?_ " Newt snorts, "nah, man, genuine bisexual here, thank you very much."

"Ah," Hermann says, and lets his hands fall to his sides; still, finally. "Do you...do you have anyone, then?"

It takes him a moment to figure out what the fuck Hermann's on about—they've sort of veered into another conversation from the original entirely—, but when he does he says, "Uh, nope. For some reason, working K-Bio means that people aren't really, uh, _interested_ in me."

"Pity," Hermann says, with a frown, and—do _not_ get your hopes up, Geiszler, you _moron_ —picks his chalk back up, though this time, he seems content to just hold it in his hand. "I'm sure you've got—redeeming qualities."

The way he says it—awkward and a little stilted—is enough to erase any shred of _ridiculous_ hope from Newt's mind, and to make him laugh. "Thanks," he says, and grins widely.

After a moment, Hermann clears his throat. "I, ah, do," he says, like he's confessing some sort of secret, and Newt feels horribly, unfairly _disappointed_ by this, and then reminds himself that it's not his place to be. "Not—er, not anything of any _substance,_ " he clarifies. "Just a...an _interest,_ " and then he jerks his head to the side, scowling slightly, in profile.

"Holy shit," Newt says. "You have a _crush?!_ "

Hermann's cheeks, usually so pale, go just as furiously red as his ears have. "Don't _shout it,_ " he hisses, "have some—some _tact!_ "

"What, afraid someone'll find out?" Newt says, brow raised.

"I— _no,_ " Hermann says, "I simply—don't think it's— _necessary_ —"

"Who?" Newt demands, "is it the new J-Tech? Whassisname, Tony? He's pretty okay, but kind of a _dick,_ though I guess if you're into that—"

" _Newton!_ " Hermann shouts, and the chalk in his grip snaps, "I don't _really_ think—not very _professional—!_ "

"I could ask Tendo," Newt muses, not particularly serious; mostly, really, he just enjoys watching Hermann get all riled up, and, well, he's _petty_ and maybe a bit jealous of whoever this mystery dude is.

" _Do not,_ " Hermann says, "Newton— _please,_ I'll—I'll do whatever you want, just— _please_ don't do this."

Newt stops; grins. " _Anything?_ " he asks, and watches Hermann's face drain of colour.

" _Within reason,_ " Hermann adds, "er. You understand."

"Yeah, yeah," Newt says, with a wave of his hand. "Okay, then, first off...how about we deal with the kaiju thing?"

"Oh, God," Hermann groans. "Of _course_ that's what you want. I should have known."

"I don't have any lab assistants," Newt points out, "look, dude, I'll—help you with something math-sy in return, alright, and I won't breathe a _word_ of this to anyone else, but I _seriously_ do need the assist."

Hermann sighs. The colour's leeching, splotchily, back into his face, and he gets down to pick up the dropped chalk. "Alright," he says, "I suppose you're not— _wrong._ "

Newt gets the impression that there's something he's not saying, but he doesn't push it—he suspects he's pushed enough for the night.

It comes up again a few months later; they're sitting side-by-side on the couch, staring morosely at the paper in Hermann's hand.

 _Coastal Wall,_ reads the title, and Lars Gottlieb's name is on it.

That's why they're like this, actually; after the news broke this morning—of loosing funding, of potential closure—Newt'd figured that Hermann _probably_ wanted someone to argue with, or at, or, at the very least, a shoulder to cry on.

The first two don't work—Hermann seems to be caught in some sort of trance, moving mechanically, and he doesn't rise to any of the bait Newt offers—so it winds up being the third, so Newt pulls the couch out from behind the tower of stuff obscuring it and drags it to the middle of the lab, half over each side of the line, and presses Hermann down onto it, careful to only touch his shoulders where there's the three layers of clothing in between their skin.

"Bastard," Hermann rasps, finally, after staring blankly at the wall for twenty minutes, the glass of tea in his hand long-since gone cold.

Newt lets out a startled laugh at that. "Yeah," he agrees, "you're right about that."

"Hah," Hermann says, and he should say something else—exclaim about how _of course_ he's right—but instead, he just leaves it hollowly at that.

Newt fidgets; and then, finally, takes the cup from his hands. "I'll get you some fresh tea," he mutters, and ignores the fact that it's—what, three in the morning and they haven't slept in at least a day and a half, and stands.

He fills the kettle in the sink, mindful of the contaminated beakers and trays in it, and sticks it on the base; presses the lever down, and then frowns when the light doesn't click on, and tries again.

"You forgot to plug it in," Hermann croaks, from right behind him, and Newt nearly jumps at that.

" _Hermann,_ " he snaps, and doesn't continue because he isn't really sure how.

Hermann moves past him, brushing against him in the process, and picks the cord up, plugging it in, and presses the lever again. "There," he says, "I told you."

Newt looks over at the couch. The paper's not lying on it, and he realises why, when, a moment later, Hermann makes his way over to the trash-can by Newt's side and places a wadded-up ball of paper in it.

He's close to Newt; very close, and he doesn't seem to have realised that.

Newt draws in a careful breath; gets the scent of chalk, and stale sweat, and a hint of something cool, like cucumber—his shampoo, maybe, or bodywash? It sends him slightly off-kilter—light-headed and wrong-footed and feeling altogether _guilty,_ somehow.

The kettle whistles, and Newt exclaims, " _Ah!_ " and jumps to go grab it.

He pours the cup and offers it to Hermann; nervous, suddenly. "Thank you, Newton," Hermann says, and takes it.

"I bet your crush doesn't know how you take your tea," Newt says, smugly, and without thinking, and then thinks, _ah, shit, shut the fuck up, idiot._

Hermann blinks at him. "Er. No, he, ah—he does," he murmurs.

" _Right!_ " Newt says, maybe a bit too loudly, and he's going to fucking _burst_ out of his skin, he's so—he's _jealous._ What's he trying to do, cling to the delusion that no one knows Hermann as well as he does? Hell, his order's _basic_ —he takes the tea without anything else; just likes it steeped less so it's lighter, it's not _that_ hard to remember. "Right," he says, again, "uh. Anyway."

"Mm," Hermann hums, and Newt's glad that he doesn't press it any further. "He's, er—a bit _odd,_ " Hermann continues, almost absent-mindedly—Newt's not sure he's even aware he's talking, he hasn't exactly been doing _fantastically_ today—, and he takes a sip of his tea, not wincing at the heat. "Very... _passionate._ I could watch him all day and never get tired."

The last bit is said almost— _wistfully._ "I wish he'd notice me," Hermann murmurs, and Newt doesn't think he's _meant_ to hear that, but with how close they're— _still_ —standing, he does.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," he says, with a falsely cheery laugh, and ignores the radiating phantom-pain in his chest, "you're _kind_ of hard to ignore—loud and—and, um,—" _don't say handsome or interesting or_ —"—_noticeable," he settles on, lamely, instead. "I mean, you _are_ a genius."

Hermann gives him a thin-lipped, lopsided smile, and he sets the cup down; raises his hand, hesitant, for a moment, and then puts it on Newt's cheek. Newt's breath quickens. "That's very kind of you," Hermann says.

For a second, everything is crystal, and then Hermann's hand falls from his cheek to his shoulder, and he pulls him into a hug, and the crystal shatters and Newt does his very best to try and not be too disappointed, and mostly succeeds.

"Thank you, Newton," Hermann says, quietly.

"For the—the tea?" Newt manages. "Uh. Yeah. Any—anytime, man."

Something flicks across Hermann's expression for a second, but it's gone just as fast, and he steps away and picks the cup back up, and that's—that's that.

Newt tries, desperately, not to think of Hermann letting him cling to him after he found him, because thinking about that is just going to make things _complicated_ and Newt feels— _bad,_ pining over someone who clearly sees their—their _relationship_ as nothing more than platonic, and is interested in _someone else._

He doesn't think of it when Chau sticks the knife up his nose, which, _fuck,_ stings like all hell; the scent of ammonia around them does not remind him of the lab, and of standing, too close, to the man who makes his heart beat like a drum and is wholly out of his grasp.

 _Hermann,_ he wants to say, out of reflex. Instead, he says, " _Ow!_ Fuck!" and Chau laughs and finally pulls the knife away, thank fuck.

"I need a kaiju brain," he says, drawing himself up to his full height, plus the two inch-thick heel on his boots, and raises his chin; defiant, and Chau laughs again, and Newt decides he _really_ doesn't like that sound.

And then when Otachi's kid eats Chau, Newt is viciously gleeful, for a split second, before the rational part of him with _survival instincts_ that sounds suspiciously like _Hermann_ yells _run you moron before you get_ eaten!, so Newt listens to it and runs, or at least tries to, falls and stumbles and thinks, _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_ and prepares to be eaten alive and then _isn't._

All in all, he'd say it's been a pretty eventful day, so he thinks he can be forgiven when Hermann says "I'll go with you" and Newt—well, he _laughs_ at him.

"Sorry," he says, and scrubs at his left eye, slightly breathless, Hermann's glare bearing down on him, "I thought for a moment you said—" and he gesticulates widely, words failing him.

"You _moron,_ " Hermann snaps, "did I _stutter?_ "

Newt laughs again, because—because, fuck, Hermann just said _that_ and it was irrationally cute and Newt thinks he _deserves_ a little hysterical laughter at the end of the _fucking_ world, okay, he does, _Hermann,_ thank you very much.

"No," he says, finally, "no, I just—" and then he chews on his lip for a moment. "What if we're not compatible?" he asks.

"Did you ask that question before you Drifted with Mutavore?" Hermann sniffs. "Regardless, I've read our files—we'll be fine."

And _that_ leaves Newt reeling for a moment, because, um, _the hell?_ but there isn't any time to dwell on it so he just nods and says, "There's a second squid-cap you can get hooked up, over there."

The Drift itself isn't—it isn't. _Much,_ in a way, or _enough,_ in another. Mostly Newt tries his best to focus on finding what they need and pushing _away_ anything that's—well, _personal._ Hermann, it seems, does the same thing, because, aside from a few flashes of Kid-Hermann, Newt doesn't get anything, which is probably for the better, honestly.

And then they stumble out of the Drift and that's _that_ and Newt means to say— _something_ but there's no time for it and they're rushing back to the Shatterdome and they've helped save the world.

They drift towards a slightly more secluded corner of the room, leaning into each other, and that's when Newt remembers _it._

"You should probably go see him," he says, "um, now that the. The War's over. You can go confess and be...be happy."

It tears his heart apart, sure, but this isn't about _him._ It's about what's going to make Hermann happy, and Newt wants Hermann to be happy even if it's not with him, because he loves Hermann, which he's realising, very rapidly, and that means that he wants Hermann to be happy.

He gives an attempt at a smile. It feels wrong.

Hermann sighs. "I doubt he's... _interested,_ " he says, sadly, and that's—Newt never wants to hear that in Hermann's voice again, that terrible sadness.

"I doubt it," he says, "dude, you're a fucking _catch._ Anyone would be lucky to have you. I mean," he continues, because Hermann looks like he feels like shit, and there's not a lot Newt can do, but he _can_ do this, "have you looked in a mirror any time recently? You should go for it. Go for it and kiss him—"

And then Newt's brain fucking _flatlines._

Hermann is is kissing him, flat, thin lips pressing against his, gripping his tie to hold him close, and Newt doesn’t kiss back, really, mostly because of shock.

“Wait,” he says, when the other pulls away, “what about the other guy? The one you actually like? I mean, I know you’re desperate, but you don’t have to settle for _me._ ”

“You _cannot_ be this stupid,” Hermann says, with a sharp exhale, and drops his hand from Newt’s tie, and takes his hand. “Newton, I’d never _settle_ for you—I’m running _enthusiastically_ at you.”

Newt blinks. “Wait,” he says, “wait a minute, man, hold up, are you saying—are you saying you have a _crush_ on me?!”

“…well, technically—“

“Holy _shit,_ ” Newt breathes, “you like be _back!_ ”

“Oh good,” Hermann says, or starts to, anyway, because before he can finish, Newt’s kissing him again, very enthusiastically, in front of god and everyone and Hermann doesn’t seem to mind too much because he’s smiling against Newt’s lips and kissing him back with just as much fervour, and Newt thinks, _hah, I really am a rockstar._

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
